Cracked
by SeverusHaveILoved
Summary: Little Harry Potter may have taken one to many obliviates to the head as a child. So, when a slightly nutty 12 year-old overhears a conversation at the Dursley's house during the summer before his third year it sets in motion a chain of events that can only lead to havoc and mayhem.


A/N: I had posted this chapter once before, but immediately took it down. I've edited it a bit and am now reposting. This story is not crack, but it's definitely not serious either.

**Chapter One (Headhunting) **

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to."

"I don't much care where –"

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go."

Lewis Carroll

Perhaps if Harry hadn't gotten thirsty late one quiet evening in early July he would have had a very different life. As it was, he did get thirsty and so pulled himself off of his small bed in the smallest room of number four, Privet Drive, to sneak down the stairs to get a drink. Harry knew very well what the consequences of being caught out would be and so with due caution he tiptoed his way into the kitchen to very quietly drink straight from the faucet. Having sated his thirst, Harry turned towards the door that led back to the stairs when he heard the sound that may as well have signaled the bells tolling his funeral, or at least it would have if he hadn't quickly scurried into the laundry room that was attached to the kitchen to hide. Cautiously, he left the door partially open in the exact position it was before he entered the room. To be on the safe side he dove underneath a large pile of Dudley's clothes that had been left for the 12 year-old wizard to wash, dry and fold the next day. So, with a pair of his cousin's tidy-whiteys uncomfortably close to his face, Harry overheard a conversation that spurred a radical change in the course of his life.

"Vernon," the grating voice of his Aunt Petunia spoke from the kitchen, "I'm all for getting rid of the boy myself, nearly drowned him the morning he showed up on our doorstep, but you know we cannot do anything rash. That Dumbledink fellow said we would be generously paid for allowing that abomination to stay here every summer." Harry could hear the grunt of affirmation from his Uncle Vernon, likely with his pig-head stuck in the refrigerator trolling for a late-night snack.

Apparently he emerged because the boy next heard, "Yes, Pet, but I had plans for us this summer, we have the Jones coming for dinner in a few weeks and I wanted to take you and Dudders on holiday in August. I was thinking me, you, and a little baby oil on a beach in the French Riviera, what do you think, hmm, my little biscuit?"

Harry nearly gagged at that. He took the risk of moving his hand to cover his mouth, just in case any vomit did inadvertently come up. Just gross! Harry wished that he could use his wand to obliviate himself. Where was that oaf Lockhart when you needed him?

Oh, but they weren't done, "Vernon," the wizard could hear his aunt say breathlessly, "You beast!" And then Harry heard the most disturbing part thus far, his aunt gave a girlish giggle, like those he had heard from one of the American teen shows that Dudley watched sometimes. Holding down his meager dinner thankfully distracted the boy long enough that he missed the ensuing kissy noises coming from the kitchen. Had this not been the case, the young Gryffindor may have lost the battle against his own stomach.

Mentally resurfacing, Harry felt a small measure of pride in achieving victory over his own body. What he heard next, however, wiped all his satisfaction away. "Just a few more days love, and Dumbledoop will be here to do whatever it is he does that keeps the boy quiet all summer. We can even drop the little vermin off at that Figg woman's house and still go on holiday. She says he's always so quiet and compliant whenever he visits."

"Well, whatever he does, that old coot had better get here soon. I'm tired of dealing with the boy's whiney comments, 'I need to use the toilet; I'm hungry; I didn't get all the chores finished." Harry heard his uncle using a high-pitched voice to mockingly imitate his own.

"His note said he was held up this year. I think when Dumbledip comes we should demand to be paid more. The boy is growing and eating all of little Dudders food. We hardly have means to provide for our own sweet boy much less that little cretin. Lord, we are not running a charity house!" Petunia finished in an exasperated voice.

"Yes, Pet, you are right there. We'll squeeze more money out of that old goat and then I'll take you on holiday." With some hopefulness in his voice, Vernon agreed with his wife, perhaps desiring to return back to their previous activities.

"Vernon Dursley," Petunia declared in a shocked voice, "Not in the kitchen. What if the neighbors see?"

"Well, they would get the show of their life since I have the best looking woman on the whole block!" Vernon's voice was muffled as if his mouth was pressed up against something.

"Vernon," Petunia exclaimed again, this time with a hint of pleasure in her voice, "Only sexy-times in the bedroom."

"Well, get on then," accompanied by a smacking sound was the last thing Harry heard before his relatives left the kitchen.

Harry continued to lie there, too stunned to sneak back up to his room. Most people's minds might be racing at this point, trying to assimilate the shocking information he had just received, but not Harry, no the young boy's mind was blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. No indomitable inner strength coming to his rescue, no incredible appearance of never before seen magical powers to bring his relatives to heel, no daring escape plan executed with precision, an attention to detail far above his current maturity level; no, nothing of the sort . . . just blank.

Shock, his mind supplied for him. That was it! He wasn't normally a thoughtless boy, it was the shock; well perhaps he was thoughtless, at least that's what his aunt had said many times. Harry often wondered about that as his relatives seemed intent on pushing, shoving and bopping all thought out of his head most of the time.

Ack! Maybe Dumbledore had stolen all of his thoughts! Harry began to panic as this idea struck him. Maybe that's what Dumbledore did when he supposedly came to visit each summer; he stole Harry's thoughts from him. Where could he get more thoughts to replace those that Dumbledore had taken from him? The library had thoughts . . . yes, the library had lots of thoughts that he could have to replace all of the stolen thoughts. But, how would he get there? Perhaps he could walk, which would give him time to begin regaining his plundered thoughts. He could think about the trees and the grass and the neighbor's dogs. Was Dumbledore interested in the neighbor's dogs?

Off-track, how to get to the library to acquire more thoughts? That was his mission now, to acquire more thoughts. No, rewind, he had to consider what to do about his current state of thoughtlessness. Could you report being thoughtless to the authorities? What would happen if he asked a police officer to help him get his thoughts back? Could he walk into the police station and explain that the headmaster of his school for young witches and wizards had used his magic wand to steal all of Harry's thoughts? Perhaps not.

That is when the most horrifying thought of all occurred to the young wizard. Dumbledore was coming back for more of his thoughts. Was Dumbledore some type of wizard pirate that sailed around in his revolting robes stealing thoughts that did not belong to him? What did he do with these thoughts, Harry wondered? Did he collect them all in a treasure chest and bury them on some remote island? Was there a map leading to all of Harry's thoughts somewhere in Dumbledore's office? How could he get into that office to find that map? This was a conundrum.

Who had access to Dumbledore's office that would help Harry? The boy highly doubted that if he merely asked the headmaster for the map that the man would give it up. He was a pirate after all! They did not give up their treasure to just anyone. Perhaps Professor McGonagall would help him get the map. He could write to her, but no, that would take too long. Dumbledore would be here in a few days to steal more of Harry's thoughts to put in his treasure chest. No, Harry was on his own for this mission.

But wait, perhaps there was someone that could help him sneak into Dumbledore's office; after all, he had snuck into Harry's room last summer. "Dobby," the boy whispered, still cautious of being found by his relatives. Immediately the wizard heard a loud crack and then glimpsed the huge, green, tennis ball-sized eyes and a long thin nose of Dobby the house elf.

"Harry Potter, Sir, you is calling Dobby? What can Dobby do for the great Harry Potter? Do you need the baby-whale's clothes cleaned? Dobby can do this for Harry Potter. Harry Potter set Dobby free! Harry Potter is so good and kind," the little elf finished with reverence in his voice.

"Shhhh, Dobby speak quietly or you will wake up my relatives!" Harry hissed at the excitable elf.

"Oh, Harry Potter, Dobby is so sorry, so very sorry, Sir. Dobby is not meaning to wake up nasty relatives. Dobby will punish himself! Dobby will slam his head with the washing machine door as punishment."

"No, Dobby, no punishment right now. I need your help with something."

"Harry Potter is needing lowly Dobby's help with something? Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter, so good, so great is Harry Potter."

"Yes, Dobby I need your help. I've found out that the Headmaster has a map in his office that shows the way to something that belongs to me. I need that map Dobby! Can you get it for me without letting the Headmaster know that you have been there?" Harry finished with hope and pleading ringing in his voice.

Dobby considered this for a moment. "Yes, Dobby can do this for Harry Potter, Sir, but Dobby must be very sneaky to take from Dumbledore's office," the elf finished thoughtfully.

"Yes, Dobby, you must be very sneaky and not get caught! I do not want you to get caught Dobby. You are my friend, and I don't want you to get into trouble just for me," some doubt now entering the young wizard's mind about the feasibility of his grand plan.

"Dobby is Harry Potter's friend? Oh, Harry Potter is such a noble wizard, to be concerned about Dobby getting into trouble. Dobby does not deserve such a magnificent wizard as Harry Potter for a friend. Dobby will get Harry Potter's papers and not get caught!" With this pronouncement, Dobby vanished out of the room, thankfully with only a small pop to mark his departure.

Harry tried to wait patiently for Dobby's return. He began listing new ways to think new thoughts as a means to pass the time. When he was on number eight, "read all the messages written on the walls of public bathrooms," Dobby returned carrying a large stack of papers and envelopes in his hands.

"Dobby, what is this? Where is the map?" Harry asked a little impatiently. He needed his thoughts back before his brain shrunk from lack of use. This new thought sidetracked him briefly, could wizard's brains shrivel up from not having the correct number of thoughts stored away? Would his head get smaller too or would his miniature brain just slosh from side to side in his regular sized head. Maybe, Dumbledore wasn't a pirate after all but a headhunter like on that horrible movie he had watched in primary school. Maybe, the Headmaster had a whole collection of wizard heads on display in his private study, like the doll collection that Mrs. Fantoccini from number 7 across the street had accumulated.

Hesitantly, deciding to leave this thought for further consideration at a later time, Harry returned his attention to the little elf that was hopping from one foot to another, a crazed smile on his pointed, little face. "Dobby, got Harry Potter's important papers from Dumbledore's office, just like Harry Potter asked. Dobby is a good elf that helps his friends!" This was said with no small degree of pride on the part of the demented little elf.

Harry extracted himself from the pile of clothes, carefully taking note to avoid touching Dudley's used underwear. He waved Dobby over to the far corner of the room and sat down holding his hands out for the papers Dobby had liberated from the Headmaster's office. After handing them over, Dobby sat beside him waiting perhaps for another way to be useful to the young wizard.

After flipping through the first few envelopes that appeared to be fan mail to himself, Harry absently asked Dobby, "You don't think he'll know you took these papers? I don't want you to get into trouble." The boy reiterated again.

"Oh, how kind Harry Potter is to think of Dobby's well-being. Harry Potter is too good, too selfless! Harry Potter does not need to worry about Dumbledore missing the papers. Dobby is sneaky and clever, yes, yes, Dobby left a copy of Harry Potter's papers in Dumbledore's office." This pronouncement was once again accompanied by that demented, gleeful smile Dobby had worn when he returned to the laundry room.

"A copy? You made a copy and left it for Dumbledore? Dobby you are brilliant! Now the Headmaster won't know that I've found his secret hiding place until it is to late," he paused briefly, considering a new thought, "Will he know that the documents you left are copies?"

If a house elf could glow with pleasure, Dobby certainly did after hearing accolades from his beloved Harry Potter. "Oh, no, Harry Potter, Sir, Dobby is a very good elf and learned from Bad Master how to copy papers so that wizards will not find out."

Harry hesitated briefly after hearing this. Did he want to ask Dobby to do the same things that Lucius Malfoy had ordered him to do? But, these were technically his papers after all, and he really did need to find that map to get his thoughts back. Harry did not believe that anyone would want his brain to shrivel up. Well, maybe Voldemort would do a happy dance, and Dumbledore would try to poach his head, but the boy didn't think anyone else would see this as a good thing. Good grief, Snape was constantly after him as it was about his little utilized intellect. Harry certainly did not want to lose any more brain capacity.

Going back to flipping through the stack, Harry came across a curious envelope. It was addressed to him in simple block lettering and had the emblem of Gringotts Bank stamped in the corner. What would the goblins write to him about he wondered? Opening the envelope he pulled out the letter as well as a single gold galleon. The letter informed him that he was to receive a bequest and to be at the bank forthwith to sign the paperwork transferring ownership of a number 12, Grimmauld Place in London to himself. He was also informed that the galleon was a portkey and to speak the word, "skinflint" to activate it. Whatever a portkey was, Harry thought getting a house was pretty cool.

"Dobby, what's a portkey?" Harry asked the bouncing elf next to him.

"Harry Potter, a portkey is for wizards to travel from here to there."

"Have you ever used a portkey Dobby?" Harry asked, hoping to get some insight into the nature of the traveling experience.

"I is a house elf, Harry Potter, Sir. I is not needing portkeys to go from here to there," the elf looked at him cheerfully, his large eyes open wide in delight at sharing information with his hero.

"I have to go to Gringotts Dobby, to get a house, but I have to wait until morning to go and I'm worried that the Headmaster will be out hunting heads for his collection and drop by to collect mine if I don't leave now." Harry held his head for emphasis, twisting it with his hands from side-to-side, miming it popping off his shoulders. "What should I do?"

The little elf cried out with alarm, "Harry Potter must not get his head collected, no, no! Dobby will protect Harry Potter's head until morning, so that Harry Potter can visit the goblins."

"Oh, thank you Dobby! Will you go to Gringotts with me, or do you need to get back to Hogwarts?" Harry gave Dobby his best pleading look, that wasn't really good since he hadn't gotten to practice it much in his life. He had seen Dinky Duddydums use it on his parents more than once though, so the young wizard thought his version would be close enough.

"Harry Potter wants Dobby to come with him to the goblin bank? Harry Potter wants to spend time with Dobby?" This was apparently the last straw for the mercurial elf and he suddenly burst out crying, babbling his thanks and assertions of unworthiness.

"Of course I want to spend time with you Dobby, you are the only one I can trust right now." Harry had not intended for this statement to cause a fresh wave of sobbing, but soon he had quieted the hysterical elf down enough to make plans for an early departure to Gringotts the next day. Harry climbed the stairs back to Dudley's second bedroom, his brain full of thoughts about tomorrows adventure.


End file.
